


The five stages of finality

by lightly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightly/pseuds/lightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean goes through something like the five stages of grief, or at least according to Sam he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The five stages of finality

The five stage of finality

 

 _[Fear]_

 

Dean goes through something like the five stages of grief, or at least according to Sam he does. Dean, of course, disagrees. He disagrees loudly and with a liberal use of profanity, which Sam ignores. Because that is what Sam does. Ignores things.

No wait…

No, that’s what Dean does. Ignores things.

“You repress, asshole.”

“Fuck you, Sammy.”

So Sam’s bleating on about feelings and Dean is telling him to “Shut the goddamn fuck up.” But Sam isn’t shutting the fuck up so Dean picks a fight about something else. This time it’s Sam’s shirt, because in the grand scheme of everything, Sam’s shirt is what matters.

They bicker for 500 miles straight with neither of them letting up. They bicker and bitch and moan until what they were bitching about becomes a distant memory. Even Dean knows it’s not about Sam’s shirt anymore, but Sam is up shit creek if he thinks that Dean is going to admit to that. Each word, each attack is twisted with an off-color sarcasm and at one point Sam’s hand curled into a fist. Dean was pretty sure that if they hadn’t been hurtling down the highway at that point, then Sam would’ve been looking to land a solid punch. Possibly in the region of Dean’s lower jaw, Dean always hated getting hit in the face.

The argument gave way to an oppressive silence and the air inside the Impala became, stifling, suffocating and Dean really didn’t have the time to learn how to breathe all over again. He didn’t have time for much of anything. As that realization sunk in the silence between them deepened and then was broken by Dean taking in a long drag of air. For a fleeting moment Dean felt like he might have been drowning.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Yeah, me too.”

 

 _[Anger]_

 

They found a nest of vampires in Albuquerque. Which was sort of a random place, Albuquerque, Dean said although it isn’t really all that random. Nowhere is random anymore, Dean just likes saying Albuquerque. Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque, Albuquerque.

“Dude, cut it out.”

“No.”

So, yes, vampires. Dean hates the fucking things, but he does at least make a half-hearted attempt to suggest that maybe they aren’t killing people. But it’s Sam that shoots the thought down, it’s obvious from the bloody trail they are leaving behind, that people are dying violently. And it’s Sam, it’s _Sam_ that sucker punches the last one, the one they missed during the culling of the nest, the one that tries to sneak up on them. Sam hits it and the bastard thing goes down and Sam rounds on it, on him. Because it’s a boy, just a kid barely out of his teens. It’s not recognizable as anything by the time Sam’s done.

Dean just stands back and lets Sam exhaust himself before calmly cutting the things head off.

“You done?”

“Yeah.”

 

 _[Pretence]_

 

Dean keeps humming this one Tim Mcgraw song and it’s bugging the shit out of Sam, Dean know this and it’s bugging the shit out of Dean too, but he just can’t help it. He only caught a flash of the chorus, but before he could change the radio station the melody had wrapped itself around his memory and now he can’t get it the fuck out of his head.

Sam glares at him every time Dean starts up the little snatch of words.

“I hope you get the chance to live like you were…”

“Dean, that’s not funny.”

Dean wants the damn thing out of his head; he wants to get on the subject of Sam’s shirt again. He can feel the fight build up inside him, he can feel the heated words on the tip of his tongue because Sam is in full on research mode and Sam in full on research mode is almost as annoying as Dean’s singing and Dean is happily convinced that there is nothing to research.

There are books everywhere, they litter the floor, cover both of the beds, are stacked high on chairs and Dean has no idea where they all came from. Sam must magically pull them out of his ass or something because, _DAMN_.

So when Dean’s not been humming, he’s been sniping, saying under and back handed things all geared to getting a reaction that Sam is steadfastly not giving him. And in the end Dean’s harsh words falter and die away because it’s no fun without some audience interaction.

So he takes a deep breath and starts humming again.

“I’m going to the library, I’ll see you later.”

“Sure, fine, whatever.”

 

 _[Fun]_

 

They go bowling in Boise, because why not? It’s what normal people do right? And Sam says that it’s so typical of Dean that he thinks normal equals bowling.

“You watch too much TV.”

“I do not.”

Dean’s been bowling a few times, usually at a girl’s request, but he’s not telling Sam that.

Dean thinks that the best thing about bowling alleys is that everyone looks out of place. From the sour faced people who work there to the guys in the matching shirts, whooping like they just won the lottery. Something about the neon glow of the gaudy lights, it casts a strange shadow over proceedings.

They are both insanely good at bowling; all it takes is a steady hand and a good aim. They pretty much have it in the bag. Dean’s happy to see that, despite Sam’s earlier misgivings and incredulity at Dean being, well, Dean, Sam had let himself relax and they were having a really good time.

It’s a shame, though not much of a shock when they get thrown out.

“Dude, hustling pool is one thing, but hustling bowling?”

“Shut up.”

 

 _[Finished]_

 

In the end, the end crept up on them. They had been keeping track, of course they had. Dean marked off the days on his mental calendar, Sam marked off the days on an actual calendar because that is the kind of pansy ass thing that Sam did. But still, the end is an unexpected and unwelcome surprise.

Dean tells himself that it’s his idea to go back to those crossroads, or at least he tries to. Truth is it was one of those things where he didn’t know where he was going until he got there. Sam of course, doesn’t know where here is.

“Why are we stopping here?”

“Just because.”

Dean thinks he’ll make it easy on everyone, or as easy as it can be given the given, and he calls her first before she can come for him. It’s not so much that she comes running, she comes strutting, and Dean thinks that of the three stacked brunettes she’s been, he definitely prefers this one. Dean can feel Sam, still standing next to him, a little too close considering that Dean’s in the line of fire. He wants to tell Sam to move away, to go away, but he can’t find the words. A terrible, thick feeling of dread has stolen his tongue because, shit, this really is the end.

Nothing happens for a full minute, they just sort of stand around. The bitch is smiling, all teeth and dimples. It would almost be a pretty smile if it wasn’t for the sadistic look of triumph in her eyes. Dean sighs and takes a resigned step forward. But he stops short and gets pulled back by Sam who’s got a hand fisted in the back of his jacket and is scratching something into the back of Dean’s neck. Vaguely Dean wonders when Sam started doing that and how he didn’t notice the pain.

When Sam is done he whispers a quick “I’m sorry” in Dean’s ear and steps away. Dean’s not sure what Sam is sorry for. The bitch takes a step towards him since it’s obvious that Dean isn’t going to move again. She makes a grab for Dean, but can’t seem to get a hold of him. It’s not that Dean is moving out if her reach, he just keeps slipping out of her grasp.

Dean honestly can’t see what her problem is.

Her almost pretty smile twists into a sneer and she shrieks something that sounds like “You mother fucking bastard son of a whore.” Which really isn’t lady like. And then she’s gone. Dean turns to Sam who is staring at the spot where the demon had just been standing, there aren’t even any footprints left to say she was ever there at all. Dean wants to say something; he wants to say “What the fuck, Sam? What the fuck?” But again, he can’t. Sam has this grim but satisfied smile on his face and when he turns to Dean that smile just gets wider.

“It’s just a stop gap measure till I can think of something else.” Sam says, indicating the back of Dean’s neck. “It’s not permanent.”

Dean smiles and shrugs and turns back to the car. “Nothing ever is, Sam. Nothing ever is.” Dean really wants to say thank you, but the words catch in his throat like so many others. While he was never ready to leave not for one moment did he prepare himself to stay.

“Come on.” Sam calls out to him. “We got work to do.”

 

Fin


End file.
